


Ain't Nothing Wrong with Dreaming

by Control_Room



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gift Fic, Restarting, dying, getting inked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Nothing at all.
Relationships: Joey Drew & Sammy Lawrence
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Ain't Nothing Wrong with Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaruiHoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaruiHoshi/gifts).



> my gift for warui hoshi - youre a wonderful friend and i hope you get some well deserved rest

“Sheep, sheep, sheep.”

A groan trembled in his throat, unable to rise out.

Those old songs, they scratched at his mind, burning into him, branding his mind.

“It’s time to sleep.”

That much the music director could agree with, every nerve and facet in his body yearning rest, but he could not find it, the peace he searched for seemingly missing from the abyss that had once been his sane, now insane, mind.

Since when had he been mad?

Maybe he would find out when he would wake up again, because, yes, it very well was time to sleep.

“Rest your head.”

Sammy struggled to open his eyes, why did everything hurt so much? Every joint and bone and sinew and muscle burned with the force of a thousand fires, and his organs throbbed as though they had been hastily removed and then haphazardly replaced.

“It’s time for bed.”

Was he on the floor? It sure felt like it, though far too slippery, a pond trying to grab him and pull him into the deep to claim him as a part of the unfathomable and clutching fathoms, to drag him precisely one fathom beneath the opaque surface.

“In the morning, you will wake.”

Who was saying those words, why did their words sound so forced, so aching, like the throat around them was constricted and rough?

“Or in the morning, you’ll be dead.”

Sure felt like it already. 

Felt like he was no longer attached to his mortal frame, as though he were a balloon sliced from its cord, sent adrift into a buffeting storm above.

Sammy forced himself back to his body, willing said body to move, and he found that with all his strength and effort, he only moved a millimeter, all his being stiff and aching.

“No.”

No, what? Sammy continued his fight with his empty bones, curiosity bringing the cat back when satisfaction alone would not suffice.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

What… what were they talking about? What should have gone in what way?

“This wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

What happened?

When has it happened before?

“Why…? Why does it keep happening?”

Sammy felt like he might retch, his swollen lips tasting disgustingly of bitter ink, but it felt right, no matter how wrong he knew it to be, it was as it was supposed to be.

“He wasn’t supposed to die. He’s supposed to live, him and Henry and Melody, so why…?”

As the gears in Sammy’s mind began to turn, ever so slowly, he pieced together the words, the clues, the voice, the place, and he came to one possible, however improbable, answer.

The person had to be, absurdly… 

Joey?

Sammy managed to push himself upright, more or less, his pounding head pressed against the wall.

Eyes opening, he could see that the person truly was Joey, he standing a ways away, his ramrod back towards the collapsed musician, appearing in an odd monochrome, only dark black and grey in Sammy’s hazy eyes.

Sammy reached toward him, and duly noticed that his hands were covered in a strange glossy darkness, like someone smeared black paint all over him without allowing it to dry up at all.

“J-Joey?” he called, his voice painful and weak, unable to rise above a whisper. He summoned all his strength, his hand falling back to his side, and he attempted to call for him again. “Joey.”

The man spun around, and a smile danced onto his lips, but the smile did not reach his eyes, obviously and disgracefully false, but weakly attempting to fool the man on the floor.

“Sammy,” he said, and said nothing more, not knowing what else there could be to say. He knew it was time to try again, so why was he lingering any longer? It was time to try again. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t breathe,” Sammy’s lungs were bags of water in his throat, rattling against his ribs. “I can’t move, what’s happening?”

“Sleep, Sammy,” Joey’s voice dropped to a soothing rhythm, trying to lull him into the darkness clawing at his vision. Joey himself dropped down beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder, at least, it was trying to be some form of comforting, but it felt plain wrong. “I’ll be right here, watching over you. Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” Sammy replied, panic welling up in his chest, in his marrow. Something felt dreadfully wrong, everything askew and the world a horrible imbalance. “I don’t want to dream, I’m… I’m scared to fall asleep, to dream.”

“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming,” Joey said in a far too chipper voice. He sounded almost happy, but happiness at gunpoint. “Nothing wrong with it at all.”

“I want to get up,” Sammy whispered, terrified. Why were his limbs so stiff, pinned down to the floor like leaden sacks in the red sea? “I want to get up.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with dreaming,” Joey repeated, ignoring him, twisting his body to loom over him. “Nothing at all.”

There was an unbearable pressure on his throat. 

“Ain’t. Nothing. Wrong. With. Dreaming.” That damned smile, he wanted to cut it right off his face. His hands scrambled against the ones on his neck, but the sleek ink on them prevented him from being able to get a proper grip. His vision pulsed, and he shook, coughs attempting to force their way out of his throat, but were prevented by the deathly pressure. “Right? Right?! RIGHT!?”

Sammy’s hands fell down to his sides, and he lay there, never to dream again. 

Joey pulled away, panting, crying, shaking, angered, afraid, disgusted.

“Well,” he said, not to anyone, for there was no one to talk to. “Well, time to try again, right?”

Sammy woke up in his office. 

Strange, was he not just…? 

He shook his head to clear it. 

Must have just been a bad dream.

A bad dream is all.

Ain’t nothing wrong with dreaming. 

Nothing at all.

Right?

… right?


End file.
